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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25397293">You Are the Best Thing (That's Ever Been Mine)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweeterthankarma/pseuds/sweeterthankarma'>sweeterthankarma</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Atypical (TV 2017)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>5+1 Things, Canon-typical Underage Drinking, F/F, First Time, Implied Sexual Content, Izzie is a lesbian I confirmed it here folks, Post-Season/Series 03, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, and slurs, brief homophobic language, but it's not upsetting because Izzie is awesome and owns the dudebro that says them, casual references to how annoying Elsa is, cute soft girlfriends, no more Elsa Gardner society has progressed past the need for Elsa Gardner</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 02:14:02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,063</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25397293</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweeterthankarma/pseuds/sweeterthankarma</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Tori22ferrante requested, “5 times Izzie refers to Casey as ‘her girl’ and 1 time Casey does it for her.”</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Casey Gardner/Izzie</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>312</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>You Are the Best Thing (That's Ever Been Mine)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tori22Ferrante/gifts">Tori22Ferrante</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Title comes from the song "Mine" by Taylor Swift.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>One.</b>
</p><p> </p><p>Izzie skips down the pavement, hair blowing in the hot summer wind, and she laughs loud. The sound is bright, cheery, almost angelic, and Casey’s heart lurches in her chest at the sight unfolding before her, a movement so hard and heavy that she suddenly thinks she could be dizzy. Izzie turns, spins on the soles of her beat up Converse sneakers and tosses Casey her keys, and Casey jumps forward to snag them before they hit the ground. </p><p>It’s the best summer of Casey’s life. </p><p>She intertwines her hand with her girlfriend’s and holds her close to her side as they approach the crowded ice cream stand. Neither she or Izzie falter at the amount of people around and the potential eyes that could be on them, and they don’t think about pulling away from each other, not even for a second.</p><p>But then Casey hears a familiar voice calling her name and she spins, grin lighting up her face before she even sees the face of the person asking for her. </p><p>Sharice. </p><p>She’d been on vacation for two months and only just got back yesterday, and while she and Casey already had plans to hang out tomorrow, it’s more than a pleasant surprise to run into her here and now.</p><p>Casey collides into her for a long, warm hug, and she smiles as she watches Sharice greet Izzie with a similar embrace. They’re not too close but they’re acquainted because of Casey, and there’s clearly no awkwardness between them as Izzie excitedly asks how Sharice’s trip to Costa Rica was.</p><p>The line for dessert is long and though Casey gets a little impatient and jealous seeing people walk past with tall, chocolate covered sundaes, she’s glad for once that she has this time to wait with her best friend. Two months was a long period of time to go without her, but also an easy amount to spend with Izzie. Casey can’t help but feel a little guilty when she rattles off all of the things that she’s done with Izzie in the past few weeks, especially when they’re things that she and Sharice used to do together. Fishing at the creek— or if you’re Izzie, watching Casey fish and being too afraid to touch the fish when they’re inevitably caught, even if it’s just a baby trout that’ll get tossed back into the water moments later— and roasting s’mores at the abandoned fire pit in the woods behind their elementary school. Fortunately, it’s clear by Sharice’s expression that she has no hard feelings about Casey having someone else to make memories with. </p><p>She says something along those lines aloud and Casey beams, shuffles on her feet out of mere giddiness.  </p><p>     “You seem so happy,” Sharice comments, tightening her grasp on Casey’s hands. Casey squeezes back, and while she’s paying attention to Sharice, of course, she can’t help but hear Izzie as she requests their ice cream order to the Dairy Shack employee, some guy she faintly remembers from their bio class at Clayton Prep.</p><p>     “Two scoops of rocky road in a cup for me, and two scoops of peanut butter swirl in a cone for my girl over there,” Izzie says before handing over the cash, and Casey grins even brighter than before.</p><p>“I really am,” Casey tells Sharice. Her only complaint is how hard her cheeks hurt from smiling. (Oh, and Elsa. Always Elsa.)</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <b>Two.</b>
</p><p> </p><p>The party is clamorous. There’s a moment when they walk inside, she and Casey, and Izzie feels like a teenager. Like, a real one, the protagonist in a movie or some unrealistic but thoroughly enjoyable young adult fiction novel. She blinks back the shine of twitching LED lights that radiate from the living room and drinks in the noise that surrounds her ears. She looks up at Casey, taller than her and holding her hand, and she pulls her closer to her side.</p><p>     “You good?” Casey asks, concern furrowing in her eyebrows, and Izzie rises up onto her toes to press a kiss to Casey’s cheek— no, screw it, what’s she shy for?— to her mouth. Casey grins against her teeth, and only when Izzie finally pulls away does she say, “I’m more than good.”</p><p>And she is, for most of the time at least. She drinks a variety of alcohols, all mixed together even though she remembers learning in health class that you’re supposed to stick to one type of liquor at once, and Casey gets drunk easily. It reminds her of the first time they bonded, drinking vodka in the principal’s office, the first time that Izzie felt like she really knew Casey. The first time she realized <em> oh shit, I really like you.  </em></p><p>The same thing happens tonight, especially when Casey sits on the kitchen counter and pulls Izzie in between her knees. There’s a comment in Izzie’s mind, on the tip of her lips about Casey being a badass and disregarding people’s property, but then she can’t remember whose property it even is, whose house they’re at— some dumb jock, she’ll later remember, when her head stops swimming from the mint schnapps and the way Casey cranes down to kiss her, hard and hot and openmouthed. </p><p>It’s not a new thought, but Izzie likes being drunk. Not in, like, an alcoholic way, of course, but there’s something freeing about the way she moves when she’s even a little intoxicated— more free, more fluid, with less tension and second thoughts. Though it’s nothing new for her to wrap her arms around Casey, sneak her fingers up the base of her crop top and seek more of her to touch, it’s exhilarating like this. Not necessarily more so, because there’s nothing more exhilarating in Izzie’s eyes than just being with Casey in whatever way she can have her, but it’s different. She doesn’t have to think as much, doesn’t worry, not even about whoever might be around to watch and judge them.</p><p><em> Let them judge, </em> she thinks. <em> I don’t care. </em></p><p>And she doesn’t, except then they <em> do </em>judge. Izzie hears a whistle in the background coming somewhere from the other room, and she doesn’t fully register that it might be directed at her and Casey until it rings again, crisp against the muffle of heavy rap music that heats the air. </p><p>     “Damn, Gardner,” a voice taunts, deep and gruff and far too close to them for Izzie’s comfort. “Moved on from Evan and putting on a show already? Might not be good for him, but at least it’s good for us.”</p><p>Izzie doesn’t have to turn around to know that Casey’s body is rigid, sitting even taller than before. She can see the clench of Casey’s jaw, the familiar pattern in which each finger of her hands settles into a fist; she sees it at practice when she’s determined, or when Elsa or Sam upsets her. (Usually Elsa.) Izzie mirrors the actions herself and instinctually steps closer to Casey so that her back brushes against her thighs. </p><p>     “Excuse me?” Casey asks, tone perfectly level. It sounds almost too sweet, almost out of character, but it’s calculated and filled with venom hiding behind it that Izzie hears clearly.</p><p>The jock holds a Bud Light can, half empty and dented. He’s drunk, it’s painfully obvious from the way his eyes glaze over both Casey and Izzie and linger on both their chests. He wavers on his feet a little, unsteady even as he doesn’t move, and Izzie imagines the room must be spinning for him in a different way than it is for her, much more amplified with booze rather than anger and desire.</p><p>     “Yeah, come on, don’t stop!” he encourages, pumping a weakly muscled arm. “You guys are hot. I mean, I, for one, am glad you’re here. This party was in desperate need of some entertainment.” </p><p>     “And we’re entertainment?” Casey retorts, all fire.</p><p>The boy beams. “Hell yeah, everyone loves to watch some sexy dykes!” </p><p>That’s it for Izzie. She snaps, reaches for Casey’s hand and hoists her down from the counter, and then rushes past the jock, though not without reaching out for the beer in his hand and knocking it out of his grip, smacking it to the floor.</p><p>     “Fuck off,” Izzie spits out. “Don’t come near me or my girl again.”</p><p>There’s some guffaws and jeers from the small group of guys that have come to watch the drama unfold, but Izzie doesn’t let it go any further. She grabs the massive, one and a half liter bottle of vodka from the counter on her way out, and lets go of Casey’s hand only to lift up a middle finger to anyone who might be watching them.</p><p>They go upstairs, desperate to get away from the crowd, and Izzie’s stomach lurches once they’re in a bedroom and have locked the door behind them. She’s not ready to see Casey’s eyes, likely brimming with tears, even though she’s always ready to wipe them away.</p><p>That’s not what she sees at all, though.</p><p>     “Okay, that was hot,” Casey says, her mouth open, a little awestruck. </p><p>Izzie blushes, feels a surge of pride run through her. “Really?”</p><p>Casey nods and applauds her. “Fucking fantastic.”</p><p>She backs Izzie up against the door within seconds, catching her off guard in the best possible way.</p><p>     “Maybe I should get in trouble again just so you can get all rightfully defensive and protect me,” Casey murmurs, “or at least upset some more dudebros with my queer existence.”</p><p>     “I’ll be there,” Izzie promises, “your princess in shining armor.”</p><p>They only stop kissing when they knock the vodka bottle over onto the carpet and realize it never had a lid on it.</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <b>Three.</b>
</p><p> </p><p>A week after Izzie’s eighteenth birthday, she loses her virginity to Casey.</p><p>Well, she isn’t a huge believer in virginity, especially now that she’s realized that she’s gay and doesn’t want anything to do with a penis or the traditional penetration that comes along with it, but her first time still matters to her. And it’s special, of course it is— Casey makes it everything Izzie’s ever dreamt of and more, makes her come so hard she wonders if she’s ever really come before— and she’s only ever had practice with herself and a guy that she let feel her through her shorts before she decided she wasn’t ready or into it— but oh, is she ready now. And into it. Very, very, <em> very </em>into it.</p><p>Casey went above and beyond to make Izzie’s first time good, and there’s a part of her that knows this is Casey’s first time too. First time with a girl, of course, but also a redo of the time she had sex with Evan just to spite her mother, just to get her anger out, just to feel something. (Damn Elsa.) Izzie knows Casey had sex with Evan besides just that one time, and that those times weren’t necessarily bad; she thinks back to the way Casey had bragged about it, that night in her car while they sipped on Slurpees in the dark. She definitely had good sex before Izzie. </p><p>But there’s something different in the way this unfolds, the two of them together. Casey and Izzie. There’s candles and flowers and yet Casey didn’t even plan it, didn’t even expect to get Izzie into bed that night— or so she claimed.</p><p>     “No, really, I just wanted to be sweet and get you flowers,” she admits once Izzie teases her about it, brimming with affection. Casey chuckles against the bare skin of Izzie’s shoulder as they lay out in her bed together, side by side. </p><p>     “I like to do spontaneous things. And besides, the other day I cleaned out my closet and found those candles and I’ve been lighting them every night, so you’re not <em> that </em> special.”</p><p>It’s a joke and Izzie knows it. Casey looks at her like she’s so special, like she’s the only thing worth looking at, and Izzie feels loved, truly loved, for what might be the first time in forever.</p><p>Still, she quips, “so you’ve been seducing yourself all this time?”</p><p>     “You know it,” Casey replies, laughing.</p><p>It reminds Izzie of the same conversation they had in her car, the joke Casey had made about having sex with herself. And it must remind Casey too, because she asks then, low and unsure and after a long moment’s pause, “have you ever...thought of me like this before?”</p><p>The real question hidden underneath is whether Izzie’s ever done anything to herself while thinking of Casey, and though she flushes bright pink and wishes for just a second that she could disappear, her worries immediately fade because this is Casey. This is her girlfriend, her best friend, someone who’s seen her at her worst and her best and everywhere in between. She’s seen her from a view between her thighs, stripped fully bare above her, head thrown back to pleasure and brought forward with insecurity. She’s just made love to her.</p><p>     “Yeah,” Izzie nods, admitting it. And then suddenly the tension breaks when she says, “a lot, actually” and bursts into a fit of giggles.</p><p>Casey laughs too, pulls Izzie closer into her side when she does so. “Oh my god,” she manages, and for a second Izzie thinks she’s going to be alone in her confession, maybe tease her a little, but then Casey knocks the wind right out of her by saying, “me too, so much, you have no idea.”</p><p>The words come out quick, mashed together with chuckling and the tiniest bit of hesitation, but Izzie, as taken aback as she may be, knows one thing: she needs to eliminate any and all of Casey’s worries.</p><p>She kisses her hard, slots her mouth against hers and eases her body back on top of Casey’s. It’s a familiar thing to do, has been for months, but she likes it even more when they’re both naked. Casey is soft and pliant and warm and strong, and she’s the color of honey on every stretch of skin that Izzie’s had the luxury to taste so far. She tastes just as sweet, too.  </p><p>     “I thought of you so much,” Izzie admits between kisses. “I wanted this for so long, wanted you for so long.”</p><p>She feels a little drunk just by being with Casey like this. Her hair forms a curtain parallel to her and Casey’s face and she pulls away just for a second to flip it back over her shoulder and curl it behind her ear. When she dives down to kiss Casey again, she’s looking at her so hungrily she almost falters.</p><p>     “Why did we wait so long?” Casey asks breathlessly.</p><p>Izzie shrugs. “I don’t know,” she admits, “you could have taken me anytime you wanted.”</p><p>It takes all of Casey’s strength to not flip her over and sink between the swell of her breasts again right then and there. Her pupils do dialate though, and she gives Izzie this onceover that makes her glad she’s not standing up. Izzie’s entire body shivers, that familiar feeling of desire returning and making something fizzle in her lower abdomen. </p><p>Casey must feel the same thing. “Well, I guess we’ve got to make up for missed time then,” she says, and Izzie grins wickedly. </p><p>     “That’s my girl.” </p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <b>Four.</b>
</p><p> </p><p>The senior party is boring. Casey knew it would be, yet surprisingly, Izzie is rather excited by it. It’s unexpected considering that she’s almost always complaining about how ready she is to go to college and leave Clayton Prep behind, even more so than Casey is. It’s been a good four years filled with plenty of ups and downs, self-discovery, and knowledge, but they’re both ready to move on to bigger and better things. Every senior is counting down the days until graduation, until a new chapter of their life begins, and that’s what this “gala” (Casey thinks that’s a dumb name for a gathering taking place in a cramped, musty gymnasium) is all about: reminding them to cherish the moments that they’ve had and get them ready to experience new ones. </p><p>It’s barely even a party, but at least there’s good catering and bottles of Minute Maid fruit punch laid out for people to help themselves to. They’re meant to pour them into the plastic, see-through cups lined out across the cheap tablecloth, but Casey’s already stuffed two half full jugs into her backpack. They’re Sam’s favorite drink and lately the corner store down the road from their house hasn’t been stocking it. (Elsa won’t go to the bigger grocery store a few towns over that always has it <em> and </em>the special kinds of Oreos that are Casey’s favorite. She claims it’s too pricey. Casey thinks she’s cheap.) Gotta do what you’ve gotta do.</p><p>Izzie covers her when she goes to grab another, blocking her from the view of teachers and faculty even as she strikes up a conversation with a guidance counselor. She’s professional, courteous and formal, and Casey can’t help but marvel at it— and sure, get a little turned on by it too. </p><p>     “You’re going to...Westfield College?” the counselor asks, her voice barely audible to Casey over the hum of the packed room. Casey rolls her eyes anyway as she fumbles with the zipper of her bag. Izzie had complained all year long about how her advisor was never helpful, always confusing her information with other students, showing up late to their appointments, and even forgetting to send her transcript to one university. Thank God it was only a safety school, and also thank God that Elsa called the school to complain about it in lieu of Izzie’s mom doing anything. (Occasionally she does something useful.)</p><p>     “Wesleyan University,” Izzie corrects, her words clear with neutrality rather than the irritation that Casey knows she’s feeling. They’ll vent about it later over cupcakes and too much juice, all the while Sam will complain about them not saving all of it for him. </p><p>     “Beggars can’t be choosers,” Casey will tell him, shoving another bottle his way and muttering something about never stealing juice for him again. </p><p>In the present, Casey struggles with the cap of the container, hitched to the metal of her zipper and refusing to free itself. She stifles a curse, especially when she hears the counselor ask where Izzie’s “friend” is going to school.</p><p>This time, Izzie’s words aren’t so collected. She’s prideful, more enthusiastic when she responds, <em> “my girl </em>here is going to the University of Connecticut,” and though it’s not obvious and the counselor likely didn’t catch anything meaningful in it, Casey does. She grins to herself, knowing Izzie’s never had someone to call her own before, never had any reason to be so brave. Casey’s changed all of that for her. </p><p>     “You’re cute,” Casey tells her when she finally stands and wipes the stickiness from the juice onto her dress pants. Izzie tries to stop her and pull her hands away, knowing Elsa will kill her later for it, but she doesn’t care. “Screw her, though.”</p><p>     “Yeah, she sucked,” Izzie agrees, but then shrugs. “We don’t have to worry about her anymore though. We don’t have to worry about any of this anymore!” </p><p>She gestures wildly to the space around them and Casey beams.</p><p>     “You’re right,” she says, “we only have one concern now.”</p><p>     “And what’s that?” Izzie asks as Casey holds up one red stained index finger.</p><p>Casey’s smile turns toothy, childish. “To get more juice!” she announces, and Izzie follows her back to the snack table, groaning and dragging her feet though her own smile doesn’t dare to fade.</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <b>Five. </b>
</p><p> </p><p>When they wake up to a downpour of rain, dampening Casey’s bedroom windowsill and the curtains on either side of it, she figures it’ll be a lazy day. They’ll spend it inside, watching movies and napping and maybe baking something while they wait for their delivery dinner to show up, a glorious and only human contradiction of energy and health. Izzie will order a salad to go along with their extra cheese pizza in hopes of being at least a little healthy, and she’ll abandon it to steal knotted pretzel bites from Casey’s own plate while she taunts her over not just getting her own order, soggy lettuce and oversalted dressing be damned. Who gets a salad from a pizza chain, anyways?</p><p>Regardless, Casey loves these kinds of days. However, that isn’t what Izzie suggests at all. Instead, she encourages Casey to get dressed and follow her outside, strapping into her carseat and driving without saying a word about where they’re going. </p><p>Casey doesn’t nag her for details, instead she just goes along for the ride. She controls the aux and plays all of Izzie’s favorite songs just because she loves to hear her sing along, watch the enthusiasm on her face when Casey queues up two Dua Lipa songs in a row and plays them back to back, the volume nearly blowing out the speakers. Casey sings along, too. She’s more of a fan of alternative rock, but she’ll support anything that makes Izzie smile. Besides, she doesn’t mind the way that the pop ballads get stuck in her head, reminding her of Izzie even when she’s not around.</p><p>Izzie pulls up to the parking lot of a plaza containing a consignment store that only old people seem to go in, a bank, and a tire shop. Izzie gets out and gives her an expectant look, as if waiting for her to join, and only then does she remember the signless dollar store tucked into the corner, its interior shadowed by a “for lease” sign that never got taken down even after it was bought. Maybe it’s for lease again. It’s kind of a town mystery.</p><p>     “Snacks,” Izzie announces when they step inside. “And whatever else you want.”</p><p>     “For what?” Casey asks, and Izzie shakes her head.</p><p>     “Guess.”</p><p>Casey grabs a bag of sour cream and cheddar potato chips and throws them into the cart, then immediately removes them and replaces them with the original flavor once she remembers Izzie’s trying to eat vegan when she can. That motion makes Izzie seem to remember her new resolution, and she frowns when taking out a package of Kit Kats and placing them back on the shelf.</p><p>     “Kit Kats have dairy?” Casey asks, and Izzie pouts. </p><p>     “Oreos don’t.”</p><p>Her pout fades at that.</p><p>     “Guess!” she reminds Casey once she’s loaded a few rolls of cookies into the top section of the cart, giving her an excited look.</p><p>     “Uh...movies?”</p><p>Izzie shakes her head.</p><p>     “Road trip?”</p><p>Izzie repeats the motion, though adds, “I wish. We’re too broke.”</p><p>Casey laughs at that, agreeing. “Camping?”</p><p>Izzie snorts, tosses a bag of veggie snack chips into the pile after checking the ingredients.</p><p>     “Case, you hate camping. Don’t mind the flood outside, either.”</p><p>Casey cranes her head once they redirect down the next aisle, looking outside the poorly tinted windows to see heavy droplets of rain fall to the concrete. It really is like a dungeon inside here, she realizes, the lighting poor and the entire area seeming rather sketchy. When they leave, she’ll tell Izzie that it’s a perfect spot for money laundering, and she knows this because she binge watched all of Breaking Bad <em> and </em>Ozark in a matter of three weeks. </p><p>     “Guess,” Izzie encourages Casey again.</p><p>     “Uh,” she starts weakly, and hesitates to voice the next idea that pops into her head. She does anyway, though. They’ve got to talk about it sooner or later. “Stocking up for college?”</p><p>Izzie’s smile doesn’t falter at this. Casey is glad. They’re both eager for college, excited and hopeful and ready to get out of their sleepy, dreadfully boring town. Leaving each other is a different story. They’re not going to be far away from each other anyway, but still. They’ve seen enough movies, heard enough stories from older friends who’ve gone through breakups as soon as they moved on to university life. </p><p>     “Pillow fort!” Izzie announces, throwing her hands up like this should have been Casey’s first thought, and <em> oh, </em>Casey thinks, she’s in love with her. She’s so, so, so in love with her.</p><p>She wraps her up in a hug, squeezes tight, and doesn’t let go even when an old lady with a walker comes down their aisle and gives them a curious look. She closes her eyes and kisses Izzie’s head when the woman moves past her, being loud and obnoxious about it. She doesn’t care. She’s long past caring about what anyone thinks, anyone who isn’t her immediate family or Sharice or Paige or Evan. (They’re still friends, despite everything, and Casey is thankful for it. He’s a sweetheart, good to have around, and even Izzie has grown to like him now.) And Izzie, of course. They’re the only people whose opinions matter. </p><p>At the checkout lane, a child no older than five peers up at Casey and Izzie, looks at the copious amounts of candy they lay out onto the conveyer belt, and lets out a gleeful, jealous gasp. </p><p>     “Me and my girl are throwing a party,” Izzie explains, gesturing towards Casey all the while using a sweet, soft voice that Casey’s never quite heard her use before, and yeah. She’s in love. She’s so, so, ridiculously in love with her.</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <b>+ One.</b>
</p><p> </p><p>Casey and Izzie’s colleges are only about a forty five minute drive away from each other, yet the distance feels hard, especially in the beginning. It’s a good four weeks into the first semester before they get to see each other, and there’s nothing Casey really wants more than to be back in her girlfriend’s arms, especially after dealing with a messy roommate who’s also casually homophobic. Casey’s already got plans to move out, but it’s going to be another few days until her transfer is approved by the housing department. Knowing how her school operates, it’ll be a while, and if it isn’t, it’ll at least feel like it. </p><p>Her one Friday class gets canceled early, thank god, so she heads to Wesleyan on Thursday night, a little after 9 PM, taking an Uber and packing her bags with everything she needs for the weekend. Izzie’s already expecting her for tomorrow, though she’s just got out of a later class half an hour ago. Casey knows this surprise will be exactly what Izzie needs to reduce her stress; this evening class has been the bane of her existence, even more than the lack of vegetarian meals at the dining hall. Casey has a remedy for both of those things: A, her own presence, and B, a falafel wrap from her own, much more accommodating dorm cafe.</p><p>The Uber’s quiet, unsuspecting. Casey’s got a bottle of wine in her backpack too, along with a pack of Four Lokos. The former is for Izzie, of course, and the latter are a peace offering for her roommates. Casey’s heard wild stories already; while she’s stuck with a roommate who finds nothing wrong with Donald Trump or leaving her dirty laundry on Casey’s desk, Izzie’s living in a suite filled with non-stop partiers. It was fun at first, Izzie told her, but after puking in the kitchen sink on the first weekend and therefore missing the introduction program that her RAs run— something she actually wanted to attend considering the only people she knew were her perpetually intoxicated roommates and a few people from orientation week— she’s over it. </p><p>The car pulls up to Izzie’s dorm and a flood of familiarity rushes through Casey’s mind. She remembers helping Izzie move in, the sting of tears pricking into her eyes as soon as she reminisces. Saying goodbye to Izzie was hard, even though she came over a few days later to help Casey move in, too. <em> That </em>goodbye was even harder. </p><p>In the dark, she vaguely recognizes the entrance to Izzie’s dorm and advises the driver to pull over by the streetlight closest to it. She thanks him, turns the light on to collect all her things, and then bids him farewell, sure to leave him a good tip. Her last Uber driver took her and Izzie to a carnival and back and kept asking if they had boyfriends, even as their hands never left each other’s grasp.</p><p>Casey stops outside of Izzie’s dorm, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear when the humid wind blows it in front of her face. She dials Izzie’s number and waits with adrenaline in her veins for her to pick up.</p><p>     “Hey,” Izzie says when she does, and for just a second, Casey is terrified that Izzie’s going to be busy doing something, maybe doing homework or studying for a test or actually soberly getting along with her suitemates for a change. Maybe she showed up at a bad time. Maybe she should have just come tomorrow like she said she would. Maybe she should run back to the Uber and head home—</p><p>But then Casey gets the words out— “so, uh, I’m outside your dorm right now”— and the giddy, thrilled, nearly unbelieving response that Izzie gives her in return makes her abandon any and all doubts she may have had.</p><p>Izzie barrels down the stairs in record time, not even wearing shoes, and when she rushes into Casey’s arms, the wind flies out of Casey’s chest in the best kind of way.</p><p>It hasn’t even been that long since she’s seen her and they text every day, FaceTime when they can, but still. Nothing compares to this, really being with her. </p><p>Casey circles her arms around Izzie, her palms warm against the heat of Izzie’s skin, radiating into her. She pulls her head away from her shoulder and kisses her, hard and long and urgent, smiling into it. </p><p>     “I can’t believe you’re here right now,” Izzie gasps when she finally tears her lips away from Casey’s. Her eyes glisten, excited and honored, like she can’t believe Casey’s really here, really did this for her.</p><p>     “Of course I am,” Casey says, nearly whimpers into her ear when Izzie picks her up and twirls her around, peppering frantic kisses along her neck. “I missed my girl.”</p><p>Izzie beams up at her and Casey swears she holds onto her even tighter, didn’t think that was even possible. </p><p>     “Your girl missed you.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>If you enjoyed, please let me know! Comments and kudos make my day. </p><p>You can find me on Tumblr <a href="https://sweeterthankarma.tumblr.com/">here</a>.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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